domingo, 24 de febrero de 2013

so a lot of people *always* complain about friends who tweet or post
about the 'wonderful' sandwich they just had or how great that foot
massage feels (*while* they're getting it), and i have never seen the appeal of reporting in from the supermarket line or the carwash.

and then here i am, in the cardiac ward of the hospital on one more saturday night, and i thinks to myself, "well, why not?"

so i'm here to tell you that the food is somewhat adequate and too
salty (!)... but the people here are cool and helpful and great in
pretty much every respect.

had a nap for like three hours in
the ER after they told me to forget getting any morphine. like they
stopped all attention when they realised i wasn't gonna croak on the
spot, so i had all that time to snooze. because of that, i was keyed up
when we got to the CW... thinking, "well, my doc says i should get
exercise every day, and i just had that nap."

so here i am taking a stroll around the floor, like on my seventeenth lap when this charge nurse pulls me over for speeding!

yah, i was shocked too. "too fast?" says i. "how can you tell?"

"heart rate's over a hundred," says she, "so get in the slow lane or
i'll run you in." (parts of this exchange might not be verbatim)

"cheers!" i said as i first tasted the metallic flavor hitting my taste buds.

he looked at me slanticular and smiled: "sure!"

not sure if that "signs of the times" magazine came from him, but it was an interesting angle to see the world from.

moms came earlier and brought me some enchiladas - she smuggled them in
wrapped in an old new yorker, so i'm set for now: food and reading.
check. (see accompanying photo, live from the scene)

breakfast
will be another story. longing for tacos. wistfully remembering the
best tacos in ensenada (in hollywood with capt slanty). or those ones
actually *in* ensenada. or those ones in mazatlan. or those ones at
hotel colonial just south of rosarito with ric. or mi tierra. yah,
it's tough in glendale on a saturday night: yearning for even one.
small. relleno.

This update was originally scheduled for the 11 AM slot, but
technical difficulties got in the way, so we’ve rescheduled it for the 9 PM
broadcast.

So yah, breakfast was a little sketchy.What’s the deal with “Belgian Waffles”
anyway?The association of
“Belgian” is misleading – they are nothing like Belgian bulldogs.Here is what I found when I lifted the
insulating cover on the plate:two
tiny waffles (suspiciously like frozen waffles and nothing like actual Belgian
waffles) with two small turkey sausages on a plate with a piece of miniature
purple cabbage the size of a confession wafer, which was the most attractive
thing on the plate.

So my mind is going, Ok, we got some kind of post-modern
hotdogs here that they expect you to put fake maple syrup on and nom nom nom
boy that’s some good eatin’.It
all makes me wonder what Jim Harrison (The Raw & the Cooked) would make of
this.

I mean, look, the waffles really do resemble the crypt
systems in modern graveyards, which are like the cubbyholes of old post offices
but all poured concrete, installed at the same time and capped later to keep
out vermin et al.The other visual
association is with “waffle stompers” – vibram-soles on shoes.Yum!That’s attractive.So you got these “waffles.”

And then you got this little cluck-weiner bedded there.Now I don’t need eggs, and I certainly
don’t want a Grand Slam, but jeez… there’s got to be something edible around
this joint.

I know that airline food is notoriously terrible, and
hospital food is famously terrible.I get it about the airline food – they have factories where they make
about ten thousand meals at once and they’re bottom-lining and you’re trapped
in this speeding aluminum cylinder miles above the welcoming earth, so you
can’t complain.And you’re
probably hungry, right?I mean
after the long run down the concourse to the gate and all.So you’re gonna eat at least some of
it.

But what’s the deal with hospitals?Is the quality level of the food meant
to make sure you don’t come back?Are they doing you a favor on some subliminal level?You’d think they want to take pride in
the food – especially since you might want to stay longer in the costly room.

Why no miso soup? Oh yah, too much salt in the miso.But you know –
and this is no kidding – the staff here is exemplary.Emma & Francisco & Hector & Kathleen & Lisa
& everyone is just super.And
not only that, they laugh real authentic laughs at my attempts at humor.

Hector took me down to the basement in a wheelchair, bound
for the big stress-test machine that is rather reminiscent of a MRI maw.And I thought, The basement, huh?So I says to him, “Hey, Hector – you
ain’t takin me to the morgue, are ya?”

And Hector says, “Naw, you ain’t dead.Why would I take you to the morgue?”

“Scared stiff, is more like it.If
I owned a hospital, that’s what I’d do.”

So dear dear Lorin smuggled in a nice fat burrito and a
six-pack of fake beer, so lunch was double good (as if to disprove my
assertions about the food in the graphs above, the spaghetti & meatballs
was pretty good – al dente to the tooth-edge! Not as good as Mom's, but then whose is?).We had a nice visit, and then off she went.

Now sharing poetry with Lisa, the Echo Tech.And ain’t that a cool phrase for the
moniker…

So a lot of people always complain about friends who tweet or post about the 'wonderful' sandwich they
just had or how great that foot massage feels (while they're getting it), and
I’ve never seen the appeal of reporting in from the supermarket line or the
carwash.

And then here I am, in the
cardiac ward of the hospital on one more Saturday night, and I thinks to
myself, "Well, why not?"

So I’m here to tell you
that the food is somewhat adequate and too salty (!)...But the people here are cool and
helpful and great in pretty much every respect.

Had a nap for like three
hours in the ER after they told me to forget getting any morphine. Like they
stopped all attention when they realised I wasn't gonna croak on the spot, so I
had all that time to snooze.

Because of that, I was
keyed up when we got to the CW... thinking, "Well, my doc says I should
get exercise every day, and I just had that nap."

So here I am taking a
stroll around the floor, like on my seventeenth lap when this charge nurse
pulls me over for speeding!

Yah, I was shocked too.
"Too fast?" says I. "How can you tell?"

She points to the monitor on her rolling cart, where my name blinks like a "Don't Walk" sign in two-inch-tall red letters – then swings that accusing finger to
the transponder slung against my chest.

"Heart rate's over a
hundred," says she, "so get in the slow lane or I’ll run you
in, pal." (Parts of this exchange might not be verbatim. Your mileage may vary. Contents may have shifted. Objects are closer than they appear.)

Acerca de mí

Posed Perfectly in Dreams

Posed Perfectly in Dreams: 15 bucks for trade edition & $30 for the numbered copies (signed by author, the editor, and by Andrei Rozen, producer of the surrealish cover photo). Author will inscribe each copy. Add 3 bucks for mail. To order, please email to cinesource(at)earthlink.net

They thought I had gutsbut they had it all wrong.I was only frightenedof more important things.~ Charles Bukowski

Those of us for whom the most extravagant promises have become a reality, are, I think, required to seek appropriate expression of their gratitude.

~ Sol Linowitz, American Ambassador

"We will cross our bridges when we come to themAnd burn them behind us."~ 'Cump' Sherman, on his way to the beach

"I'll burn that bridge when I come to it."~ Jodha Nasrudin

Life does not demand more strength than we possess.

Only one thing is possible: not to have run away.

~ Dag Hammerskjold

We may not find things to our likin’ – but we’re gonna dang sure find somethin’ we ain’t seen today.